One Day My Sister Died - chapter 37

Chapter 37. Don’t Cross the Line

Claude, out of habit, reached for the space beside him.

His fingers touched the slightly damp sheet, a few strands of black hair, and the unusually disheveled spot. He could even feel the sunlight lingering on long lashes, and with that sensation, his eyes opened.

“…What are you doing?”

He was the one startled not to be alone as soon as he woke up, but the small figure crouched on the floor flinched as if caught doing something wrong.

Yuan, wearing a light green dress with a slightly open back revealing pale skin, turned around and peeked at him. Her black hair was neatly disheveled across her back.

Claude squinted at the sunlight pouring in as he looked more closely at what she was holding in her small hands.

She was holding something strange, like a brush smeared with oil.

“What are you doing? In someone else’s room?”

Yuan flinched guiltily and quickly turned back, her hands moving busily again.

Claude’s eyebrows furrowed.

He stretched his long legs out from the bed towards her, through the gap in the thrown-off blanket.

Yuan, now suddenly in a hurry like someone on a secret mission, darted toward the door like a nimble squirrel.

Claude approached the spot where she had been crouching.

“The rocking chair was creaking too much—”

“…”

“Actually, I sat on it this morning without thinking, and the sound was louder than I expected. I was afraid it would wake you up, so…”

Yuan had been oiling the rocking chair.

It was partly because of the butler, Gustav.

Whenever Claude’s rocking chair, where he often reclined, made too much noise, Gustav would lament, “My greatest wish is to oil that chair one day.”

However, because Claude didn’t like anyone touching his things, Gustav was always too cautious in the bedroom to even think about it.

So Yuan had taken it upon herself to do it in secret.

Claude neither scolded her nor praised her. He simply stared at the leg of the rocking chair she had oiled.

“I heard the late emperor made this chair for you. Is that right? It’s a magnificent chair, no wonder you keep it close,” Yuan remarked awkwardly, trying to lighten the mood.

She walked past him, standing naturally by the sunlit window when he didn’t respond.

“This morning felt a bit chaotic, and I saw two gardeners I hadn’t seen before. They were saying something about flowers that bloom in the summer when planted in winter. Do you see them?” she asked.

Without a word, Claude walked to the window. The snow covering the garden had melted in many places, revealing its original barrenness.

“Would it be alright if I gave those people some of my ideas for the garden? That is… if the Master allows it,” Yuan asked courageously, looking into his somber violet eyes.

Claude’s gaze shifted from the busy scene outside to her.

Trying to hide her tension, she forced a smile, but Claude’s hand suddenly moved toward her.

“!”

Instinctively, she flinched, closing her eyes tightly, only to feel a gentle warmth brush against her forehead and disappear. She opened her eyes in surprise, trying to hold onto the fading warmth.

With both hands, she touched the spot on her forehead where the warmth had been. Her gaze followed his pale fingers that had lightly tapped her forehead without malice.

Though he had only touched her forehead, her cheeks began to burn as if set aflame.

For a fleeting moment, she felt as if she’d been struck by lightning, her body freezing in place.

“You can decide on things like that yourself. You don’t need to ask permission for every little thing,” came his indifferent reply.

Despite the nonchalant tone, her heart pounded.

It must be nerves. Just nerves.

Yuan watched him for a long time as he reclined in the rocking chair again.

An itchy sensation crept from her spine to the tips of her ears, so intense it was unbearable.

She wanted to say something. Anything.

She wanted confirmation that he didn’t dislike her as much as she feared.

She desperately wished that he would acknowledge her place here, that he would show her there was room for her in this space.

“I saw a dog that looked like a wolf over in the west wing,” she said, her voice slightly trembling.

“…”

“They said his name is Oliver, and that the Master brought him here when you were a child—”

“Hey.”

The previously peaceful and light atmosphere suddenly grew cold.

Yuan froze mid-sentence, holding her breath.

Without even opening his eyes, Claude continued.

“Don’t cross the line.”

His voice held no intense emotion, no harsh accusation.

“…”

But the near-monotone, emotionless sound of his low voice pierced right through Yuan’s tear ducts.

Just when she thought they had grown a little closer.

At the very moment she felt that way, they seemed to have drifted far apart.

“…Okay,” Yuan replied, swallowing her tears.

She was relieved.

Claude’s eyes were still closed.

He hadn’t seen the pitiful expression on her face, the one that had dimmed with disappointment after she had foolishly let herself hope again.

It wasn’t until long after Yuan quietly left Claude’s bedroom that the rocking chair, which had cradled him in its embrace, began to move slowly.

The chair, which had creaked endlessly under its master for so long, now made no sound.

***

Yuan fled from Claude’s bedroom and spent the entire day holed up in her “little lab.”

She gathered herbs that grew like weeds in the corners of the garden, and sometimes, with Claude’s permission, collected various things from the edge of the white forest. The most frequent visitor to her small lab was, without a doubt, Henna.

“I’m getting paid tomorrow! I’ll pay off all the medicine costs I owe you then.”

“It’s fine, Henna. It’s really not that much.”

“Medicines are several times more expensive here in Loxenhardt compared to other lands, my lady.”

“It’s my choice. If you try to pay me, I’ll be upset.”

Henna seemed ready to argue, her mouth opening slightly, but then she pursed her lips and instead rested her small face affectionately against Yuan’s shoulder.

“Thank you, my lady. Thanks to the medicine you made, my siblings made it through the winter without suffering from the usual nagging illnesses. The other maids are the same.”

Henna pulled out a pouch of tea leaves her siblings had made as a small business to sell at the market and shook it playfully.

“It’s not fancy enough for someone like you, but it’s a famous tea around here. They call it ‘Bellyful Tea.’ My siblings insisted on giving something to you as thanks…”

“Bellyful Tea?”

“There’s a strange plant that grows even through the frozen ground in winter. If you dry it, pack it into tea bags like this, and brew it, the tea actually fills you up quite a bit. It’s a lifesaver for poor folks trying to get through winter. The scent’s pretty rich, and the taste isn’t bad either.”

“Let’s try it then.”

Seeing the spark of curiosity light up Yuan’s face, which had been clouded with gloom, Henna eagerly brewed the tea.

As they sat at the small tea table to taste it, the tea indeed had a warm, nutty fragrance. Despite it being simple, the depth of flavor made it hard to dismiss as cheap. And after skipping both breakfast and lunch, Yuan felt a soothing warmth in her stomach.

As Yuan sipped contentedly, Henna cautiously broached a subject she had been waiting for.

“My lady, did you have a fight with the master?”

“Ah…”

Yuan’s expression darkened again.

“No, it wasn’t a fight. I just asked the Master a question I probably shouldn’t have.”

Yuan knew well enough that a proper lady shouldn’t speak about her marital affairs to the servants. But in this isolated estate, with no clear identity as royalty, nobility, or commoner, she felt the only people she could lean on were the household staff.

Moreover, Henna had been in this household since she was very young, so Yuan felt a budding sense that maybe she could share just a little.

“You’re the master’s wife. There’s no such thing as an inappropriate question,” Henna replied, slightly indignant.

Yuan, surprised at Henna’s reaction, looked at her with wide eyes.

A thought crossed her mind: perhaps, if she asked Henna about the mansion or even about Claude, she could get some answers.

“I still don’t know much about the Master… or this estate… or even about Oliver.”

“Ah.”

“It would be best to ask the Master directly, of course, but things aren’t going well right now.”

“My lady.”

Henna’s eyes flickered with emotion.

She placed the teapot down on the table and stood before Yuan, clasping her hands together in a gesture of sincerity.

“Henna?”

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” Henna said, her gaze firm, as if she had made a serious decision.

“I’m the granddaughter of Margaret, who used to be Master Claude’s wet nurse.”

“What?”

“There are things about the master’s former wife that I can’t speak of, since the butler insisted we keep quiet. But now… I want to tell you about Oliver and this estate.”

***

Golden hair that shimmered as if made from molten gold. Amethyst-colored eyes that sparkled like a masterpiece crafted by a renowned jeweler. Features so perfectly sculpted they seemed to be molded by the hands of a god.

The 1st Prince, Claude Yufrees, typically wore a somewhat stern expression, but when he smiled, it was as if the entire world lit up.

“Brother! Let me come with you!”

“Hold my hand tight, Apollini!”

Especially when he was with his younger sister, Princess Apollini Yufrees, who was four years his junior.

With their striking beauty and compassionate demeanor toward those below them, the imperial siblings were nothing short of treasures to the emperor and empress.

Claude, in particular, stood out. At the mere age of seven, he took the entrance exam for the prestigious academy, the Eucaloria, and placed first, surpassing numerous prodigies.

Not only that, but due to his natural build and strength, he was personally recommended for early admission to the academy’s swordsmanship program by one of its master instructors, further cementing his reputation as a gifted young prince.

Naturally, the people adored Prince Claude Yufrees.

For instance, on his 10th birthday, his portrait, which had been painstakingly recreated by numerous unknown artists, sold out instantly. Newspapers published to celebrate his birthday couldn’t be printed fast enough to meet the overwhelming demand, even with the printing presses running all day.

In those times, it was common for people to carry with them a small portrait of the prince, copied by some unknown artist, or a newspaper clipping of his face, proudly tucked away in their hearts.

However, those brilliant, peaceful days did not last long.

“Your Highness! Your Highness!”

It was while Claude was giving his younger sister, Apollini, a piggyback ride around the garden of the 1st Prince’s palace. They were standing among the Vitocina flowers that his mother, Empress Eleonore, had specially planted to celebrate his 14th birthday.

As he stood amidst the sea of violet flowers, recalling how his mother had gifted him those very same flowers while embracing him, an unexpected sight appeared.

His uncle, Marquis Mosan Reve, hurriedly crossed the garden, looking disheveled and frantic—something Claude had never seen before.

“What’s the matter, Uncle?”

In the flowerbed of *Tibouchina grandiflora*, also known as the ‘flower of glory,’ amidst falling snow, the prince could still feel the warmth of his mother’s embrace from that day.

“Your Highness, this is no time to be standing around!”

“Lower your voice, Apollini just fell asleep.”

“His Majesty the Emperor and Her Majesty the Empress… have been gravely injured!”

The treasure of the Yufrees dynasty.

From that moment on, the life of the 1st Prince, Claude Yufrees, took a dramatic turn.